“beyond wandpoint” 109 by gingerbred

[beyondwandpoint]

“11 12v Wednesday - Home Again, Home Again”

Severus (HoS, Potions), Hermione 7G (Prefect, Supreme Swot) Slytherins: Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Alberta Runcorn, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Harper Hutchinson, Hunter Hutchinson, Others: Crookshanks, Sunny
Originally Published: 2019-04-22 on LJ / DW
Chapter: 109 Characters:

Severus (HoS, Potions), Hermione 7G (Prefect, Supreme Swot)

Slytherins: Daphne Greengrass 7S (Sparkly! Fwoopers!), Tracey Davis 7S (Swottier), Pansy Parkinson 7S (Prefect), Millicent 'Millie' Bulstrode (Reserve Beater, yes, that.), Alberta Runcorn 7S (Grumpy.), Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe 7S (Beater, Winged ex-Couch still-Potato), Gregory Goyle 7S (Beater), Harper Hutchinson 6S (Prefect, Chaser, flash Robe Model), Hunter Hutchinson 4S (Imp)

Others: Crookshanks 'Crooks' (Hermione's half-Kneazle), Sunny (the Snapes' house elf)

Mentioned briefly: Staff: Poppy Pomfrey (Mediwitch extraordinaire), Slytherins: Hestia Carrow 6S (Chaser, sporty twin), Valerie 'Val' Vaisey 6S (Chaser), Sheldon Shafiq 6S (Reserve Beater, and charm on legs), Others: Crankshaft (Harper's half-Kneazle), Shawshank (the Shafiqs’ half-Kneazle), Maleficent (Millie’s Maine Coon)Previously:

Severus performs Legilimency on the boys after they take Hermione captive Friday night. Anticipating that he’ll grow sloppier as the evening progresses, he does so in order of presumed guilt. The Legilimency, however, reveals he thought worse of Goyle than warranted and had underestimated Zabini’s role in the affair. 003

Poppy keeps an watchful eye on Severus in the Infirmary from Hermione’s room by rendering the wall see-through. 009

Harper continues his now established tradition of taking pictures of Vince in... unusual situations, capturing him in his full winged glory, stuck on the couch this morning. 091 Unfortunately, he also fully expects Vince to continue the tradition of beating him silly for it, just as he had after the 'terrycloth Flobberworm' photos last year. Mentioned in 065 Harper’s hiding in the Kneazle habitat, while he psyches himself up for the inevitable. 107

After some of his Housemates steal the loo rolls, Gregory unfortunately applies a Scourgify to his, erm, manly bits. It ends in literal tears, and Millie taking him to the Infirmary. 101

Hermione trades Millie the single use fur Vanishing Charm for some information on her ring, and Oaths for that matter. 102

Severus sends Daphne and Tracey to escort Hermione to Charms Wednesday morning. Hermione has no means to tell who is at the door when they knock and just opens it, not illogically. 095 Severus realises that is a dreadful solution and resolves to teach her how to deal with that appropriately, or die trying. (Well, maybe not quite that...) 103

Severus can feel her enter the wards and then chambers. He’s not at all sure what to think about the fact she was in the company of seven Slytherins. That he can tell Miss Granger was not at all... nervous in their company thanks to their damnable bond isn’t as much a comfort as one might think. (And she hadn’t been. If anything, she’d grown slightly more nervous as they approached quarters. He has no thoughts he’s willing to acknowledge about that.)

He’s not certain he can trust her judgment as far as risk assessment goes...

He can pick out Draco from the rest. That would be worrisome, but the presence of Miss Parkinson proves something of a relief, strangely enough, at least in this context. Having no way to tell the younger Hutchinson isn’t Crabbe, he assumes it will be the seven seventh years, returning from Astronomy.

Late in the evening.

With what he takes to be four of the boys from Friday night.

The witch is brave, he’ll give her that. Draught of Peace or not, she has remarkable nerves. (It would please her greatly to hear that coming from him. But then she’d only decide that on some days, apparently he must grade on a curve...)

He’ll need to see about adjusting the wards to alert him to Crabbe. Presumably it would be wise to single out Zabini and Goyle as well, but it’s a great deal of overhead, and he’s rather pushed it as far as he can go. He wonders if dropping some individuals from the number he monitors would be wise, and begins weighing the risks. Miss Wilkins, say, or Miss Touchstone... But it isn’t responsible to send the Prefects out nights on patrol and not monitor to see they return safely.

And especially under the current circumstances, he can scarcely afford to stop monitoring for Weasley or Potter...

If he has to prioritise (and of course he does) after the things he learnt Friday Legilimensing the boys, he’d have to choose watching Zabini over Goyle. He won’t make the same mistake twice. A pretty face can hide an ugly soul. There’s some irony in the fact he still overlooks that from time to time. His experience with Black all those years ago should certainly have taught him better.

Once again, he notices something curious as Miss Granger enters their chambers, the wards feel... peculiar now that she's returned... It’s the reverse of when she’d left earlier. They feel... better, more... right (and he’s not at all pleased with the use of that word, which means it was truly the only one he found suitable) with her... here.

Home.

He'd been... a bit under the weather the past couple of days, no sense denying it, and perhaps he hadn’t truly registered the change, but he has a very bad feeling about this. Now he's just hoping she feels better... feels good here and that's what’s causing the difference. He suspects that isn't it. Especially as she appears to be on Peace.

It's not simply caused by the bond due to their proximity, because he's been near her outside of chambers since the bonding, and this... feels different. It’s some strange corruption of the wards, and he wonders if this is a kind of warping of magic linked to the bond. There are Spells altered under those circumstances, after all. He just hadn’t thought it would affect anything he was in the habit of using...

Brilliant.

Honestly, he can’t have been thinking, full stop.

As if to compensate for that oversight, dark thoughts directed at himself and Albus quickly come. Fortunately they go just as quickly. They’re so commonplace these days, he hardly needs to spell them out at this point.

He’s beginning to regret not taking more books on bonds from the library while he was about it, considers his already daunting pile and has to laugh at himself. When would he find the time for it?

The changes to the wards will bother him for a few days to come - fair enough, they were a crucial part of him - but he’ll acclimate. It proves difficult not to as it’s a pleasant sensation. That makes it easy to tolerate and even to want... more. By next week he’ll have come to terms with the wards feeling better when she's here, simply accepting it for a fact. Ultimately, he’ll decide it's because it means she's safe and he needn’t worry about the Geas pressing him to rescue her.

Deep down he’ll suspect it’s at least partially a lie.

Hermione can tell the Professor is in, she’s decided the wards have that extra kick when he’s there, and they definitely do right now. He’s nowhere in sight, and the bond suggests he’s to her right. His office or laboratory, she thinks. Very close.

She scans the shelves automatically, looking for Crooks. It’s a pity she can’t track him like that as well. It would prove useful. And then she wonders how that would feel, having too many people - or beings - to watch, to monitor all the time. It’s confusing enough to be constantly aware of just one other person. More? She can’t imagine it would be good.

So she resorts to looking around the room. And then her own, depositing her things there as she searches. There’s no sign of him anywhere.

She begins to become somewhat anxious and starts calling for him, “Crooks. Crooks!” Which unsurprisingly doesn’t do very much good. Sometimes he humours her and ‘meow’s in reply. Today she has no such luck.

She checks the rooms again more thoroughly. Considering who had laid out the furnishings, it should come as no surprise that there aren’t that many hiding places really. (At least not if one isn’t able to Disillusion themselves anyway...)

She calls him a little more loudly now, “Crooks!”

As she sees it, he can have left quarters when the Professor went to the meal. Or when he returned, but she suspects the Professor was more likely to have noticed that. Or, and this is the particularly worrisome thought, the half-Kneazle has snuck into one of the rooms behind the closed doors, hot on the Professor’s heels. That’s worrisome indeed.

She approaches the storage cupboard, the one she’s best able to justify but finds least promising, and telling herself it’s for the greater good (she really doesn’t like to picture the conversation where she explains to the Professor that they need to search for Crooks...), finally opens the door. There are all kinds of things in there, so many domestic things, apparently, like dust pan and broom, hot water bottle and extra blankets (and it seems as though it will never not be odd to think of the Professor as just an ordinary person, and one who apparently likes to occasionally address some problems the Muggle way), but no trace of her beloved pet.

“Crooks?” She’s slightly agitated now, a minor achievement on Peace, because she’s run out of options. She has no intention of trying the doors to the Professor’s rooms. She imagines they’d be locked anyway, and frets he might somehow know if she even attempted it. Which she shouldn’t anyway, clearly. And then she has to wonder if he locks his bedroom against her as well...

She’s nibbling on her lip as she considers the door.

Tracey heads for her room to drop off her Astronomy texts and get the materials she needs to work on. Daph is already at their table in the common room with a daunting stack of books around her, and Tracey wonders for a moment if her roommate has started working without her. She gives her a nod to let her know she’ll be right there. She still needs to check if Harper is in his room. She means to speak to him about this morning.

Daph, quite naturally, responds to Tracey with a broad grin and cheery wave. When it comes right down to it, either of those reactions should be sufficient to have Tracey doubting Daphne wouldn’t have waited for her. She doesn’t know why she’d questioned it really.

Probably too many negative experiences lately.

There’s no sign of Gregory or Vince yet, and the other three of the seventh year boys make a beeline for their wing. Something about their bearing has Tracey assuming she won’t be seeing them again any time soon. It doesn’t seem like they’re just fetching their homework as she is.

She’d been correct. This situation will impact their study group.

Hunter practically skips - a sure sign of his bolstered spirits - directly to the cat habitat, one of the glass enclosed rooms off the common room, assuming Harper will still be there. The space brim full of scratching posts, tubes, hammocks and ledges helps make up for the fact any felines with Kneazle blood are restricted to their owners’ rooms due to Vince’s allergies. The incidence of those allergies has become rare these days, a circumstance that helps disguise the fact that that affliction is restricted solely to purebloods. It’s just as well that has gone unnoticed; it’s inconceivable that wouldn’t have led to... certain people feigning reactions otherwise.

The animals have direct access from the dorms to the playroom through a series of small tunnels, and from there another quite long one leads them outside. The room is a very popular space for students to come to relax after classes, as part of a kind of pet-sharing scheme, and it’s dotted with squashy chairs (aggressively charmed to resist fur) provided just for that purpose. (It doesn’t hurt that it’s a Vince-free zone. He wasn’t all that popular with many of the younger students even before he somehow got the Head bonded against his will. Certainly not for the last year or so...)

Sure enough, Harper is still there, mostly hidden from view on the floor behind one of the climbing structures. He’s studying and idly playing with Crankshaft and the ginger tom’s sister, the Shafiqs’ half-Kneazle Shawshank. Harper is using a spell one of the Ravenclaws introduced that causes a very small dot of light to appear on the nearest surface wherever he points his wand, and the half-Kneazles are happily chasing it through their playroom. It had taken them a while to discover a use for the Charm. The Lightpoint hadn’t anywhere near the brightness of a Lumos, but then it also wasn’t attached to his wand, or it would never have interested the felines in the first place.

Currently the pets are racing along a walkway overhead following the tiny dot. Harper can’t quite see the attraction, but there’s no denying they’re enjoying themselves immensely.

Settling into one of the comfy chairs close by, Hunter happily tells his brother all about his latest encounter with Madam Snape, Hermione. “...and ten points from Gryffindor tonight!”

“Oh, what for?” Harper’s question echoes Pansy’s almost eerily, his manner very nearly precisely the same deceptively causal pose.

He can’t help worrying as Hunter relates the incident that he’s still spending too much time with Creevey, the younger, and manifestly too fond of both him and the Head’s Muggle-born bondmate. Bonded or not, it doesn’t change her blood status. Hunter just doesn’t seem to want to understand the danger there.

Harper starts small tonight by trying to make his little brother see sense, he can’t call her ‘Hermione’, how does that look? Hunter doesn’t budge, so Harper changes tack, willing to settle for a result even if his brother won’t learn the lesson. The Head’s wife, of all people. Clearly that’s disrespectful... That at least gives Hunter pause. The thing is, he’s so pleased with having been granted permission to use her first name, he’s unlikely to give much on that score.

Harper is forced to admit defeat. For now anyway. Both feeling intangibly dissatisfied with the exchange, they part ways as Hunter goes back to join his classmates. He can’t wait to tell Wilfred all about Hermione taking points from Peterson, the muppet. Wilfred at least should appreciate that. Hunter will be careful not to mention Dennis or Newton, though. He’s not as clueless as Harper thinks he is.

The fact he thinks his association with the pureblooded Newton as damning as that with the Muggle-born Dennis, however, rather proves that he is. It was never about the ‘Puffs versus the Moggies. No, that’s hardly the issue.

Hunter gives Crank’s ears a scratch and wishes his brother a ‘good night’. A charm on the doorway cleans his clothes of fur as he leaves.

Harper will regret his capitulation later this evening when many of the younger boys spontaneously gather in the sixth years’ room, ostensibly to crow about the day’s achievements, primarily vis-à-vis Vince. That it may also be about checking on Harper after his encounter with Vince is probable, and becomes more likely in view of how many place advance orders for pictures of the winged ‘Infairy Princess’, as Sheldon dubs him. Those numbers are suspiciously high, continuing to rise in the days to come, and can only be taken as a sign of support.

Not that the pictures weren’t ridiculously funny, and they’ll clearly become collectors’ items, but it doesn’t diminish his Housemates’ intent, and Harper appreciates the gesture.

Somewhere in the course of it all, Hunter will boast to one and all how Hermione is giving him pointers now, outing himself as her new biggest fan. Harper won’t be able to stop kicking himself for that one. If only he’d been more clear earlier, impressed upon his brother the liability involved...

Of course, the discussion that follows when Hunter tells them all about Draco’s and Theo’s defending the witch against some ‘Puffs will have most forgetting all about Hunter’s sympathies. Sure, the ‘Puffs had apparently been ‘blazingly stupid’, they’re inclined to agree with Blaise on that, but still. Because now they’re left wondering if this means the boys are trying to make up for whatever they’d done...

And more importantly: if that could ever make a difference?

When Gregory and Vince return from the Infirmary - via the owlery, that is - none of the other seventh year boys is in the common room. It doesn’t take a genius to guess why, which is just as well, as both boys most definitely aren’t so gifted. Apparently the others have assessed the situation much as Vince has and think cover, inconspicuousness and mutual support... wise. Merlin knows, last night had proved an absence of all three to just be asking for trouble, or Vince wouldn’t have spent the entire day in the Infirmary.

No, that’s a lesson he’s learnt.

He looks about for Harper, and doesn’t see him, and is just considering where to go searching for the little tosspot to take those snaps off him.

Millie spots him scanning the room and makes eye contact. With a fairly subtle jerk of her head towards the girls’ wing, certainly for Millie’s terms anyway, she rises and heads for her room. Even if her invitation had gone unnoticed - and it hadn’t; at the end of any given day, she’s in a room full of Snakes - the fact both boys follow her does not.

As she watches Vince and Gregory park their wands in the rack in front of the girls’ wing, Alberta leans forward and whispers to Pansy, “We need to have a talk with her.”

“Millie means well,” the Prefect replies.

Tracey just looks at both of them and shakes her head before hissing lowly, “If our study group has been Avadaed, and I’m not having sex, then she doesn’t get to fraternitise with them. We need to intervene.”

Pansy can’t help thinking Tracey has her priorities back to front, she was capable of studying on her own after all. Tracey would bring the counterargument that she can climax on her own, too, so it’s just as well Pansy doesn’t bring it up; Daph was liable to die of embarrassment. Still, the blonde has a point, which Pansy finally acknowledges. “We’ll talk to her tonight, alright?” She turns to some of the sixth years to let them know. There’s strength in numbers.

Daph thinks she’ll use the opportunity to bring up Theo again. She won’t achieve much, however, as Millie seizes the chance to push the ‘Quidditch Agenda’, and she’s got Hestia and Val in her corner, too.

“Hey, Millie,” Vince asks as he enters her room, “do you have any idea where I can find Harper?” She hadn’t noticed him all evening and tells Vince so. Vince assumes he’s in his room. He’ll be checking there next at any rate.

Gregory settles on Millie’s bed. One might think he’s done enough lying about for one day, but it had been exceptionally taxing. Mostly, he’s just happy to be able to lie on his back again though. Her cat Maleficent comes over to him almost immediately. He has rather a way with animals, and in no time at all, the Maine Coon is purring up a storm in response to his head scratching.

Vince eyes the cat warily. There's not much difference, really, just to look at the creatures, between Maleficent and Crankshaft, say, except for how his body responds. He has a spell that lets him know an animal is safe. Without it, he often wouldn't have a clue. (Some might argue that’s true in general, though.)

Millie watches Gregory play with her pet for a moment, full of concern for her friend. She hasn’t been able to forget his injuries from this afternoon. “How are...” she revises the question, it probably wouldn’t do to just ask him how his bollocks are... “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, much better, thank you.

“Scourgifies are for pots, did you know that?” He adds, apropos of nothing, or then again, perhaps not. Gregory is about to become a living, breathing public information film on the hazards of misapplied Spells. Admittedly, it had been a very painful lesson to learn. Once word about what he’d done gets around, and of course it does, some of the Ravenclaws will start teasing that he can always get work at the Leaky as a dishwasher if he bungles his N.E.W.T.s. That’s not quite as hurtful as applying the spell to his bits had been, but it doesn’t feel great either.

“I knew that actually,” and she likes Gregory enough that she doesn’t let even the hint of superiority creep into her reply.

“But thanks,” she adds. Manners are a real pain in her arse...

Bugger. That was probably especially inappropriate...

“What did you want, Millie?” Vince asks. He still has a pounding to dish out and things to check, he can’t hang about here all evening.

“I found that Charm you wanted,” she tells him, “the one to Vanish Kneazle fur.”

He looks surprised, “Merlin, so quickly?” Which should tell her he’d known he was asking more of her than he’d let on. Millie doesn’t catch it, deciding instead to take it as a compliment. That he assumes she’d found it by research is probably another issue. She thinks it doesn’t much matter how she’d come by the solution. She knows the answer, and that’s what counts.

She demonstrates the spell Granger-Snape had taught her, and then hands her wand to Vince. That’s the problem with practising here, that he doesn’t have his own wand. If she’d been less concerned with drawing attention, they’d have used the practice room. They’ve done this enough over the years, though, that he has no real trouble making her wand work for him. In fact, quite the contrary. Even without his own wand, he has an easier time of it than she had.

It leaves her feeling a bit slow.

She tells herself he has a better teacher, which she thinks must logically be a lie, but isn’t. She’s definitely more patient with him than Granger-Snape had been with her; she keeps constructively correcting his form and it really does make a difference. To compensate for the feeling of inadequacy, she begins to tell the boys about the the fur collection spell she doesn’t know, to give the appearance of having made a calculated selection.

It doesn’t impress Vince as much as she’d hoped, because unlike Granger-Snape, she doesn’t actually know it - as he soon discovers - and he’s busy concentrating on something else anyway. Gregory, however, perks right up, showing an acute interest in the spell to gather fur.

“Do you think that could be used for other animals?” He asks.

Millie hasn’t the foggiest. She’s saved from admitting as much by Vince’s suspicious, “What would you want to do that for?” Gregory hasn’t got a pet of his own, after all.

“You mean like a Crup or something?” Millie intervenes, hoping to take some of the sting out of Vince’s challenge.

But Gregory is unaffected. He has an idea. “I was thinking more in terms of a Puffskein.”

“Because they shed so much?” Millie’s not following, because they don’t really. Not that they cover such harmless creatures in Hagrid’s Care for Magical Creatures, certainly not, but she and Gregory both have enough interest in the subject to have actually learnt a thing or two outside of the classroom.

“Mate, there's no such thing as a Puffskein allergy. That's why they're so popular and universally allowed.” He’s on his sixth attempt at the Charm and getting close. He doesn’t have time for this kind of stuff. It’s not that Vince doesn’t like feeling superior to his friends, but it turns out he hasn’t got a lot of patience for them when they don’t keep up. It never crosses his mind that some of the brighter students feel much the same about him.

He’s right this time, however. That’s precisely the reason Puffskeins are permitted - the Pygmy variety is clearly preferred - whereas felines require administrative permission. Cat-like creatures also must be screened first for Kneazle blood if there are any with allergies in the House. Well, unless you’re a Moggie, in which case all bets are off. Those duffers never follow the rules. (There is some irony that the Snakes suddenly seem to care about rules whenever others don’t adhere to them.)

If the animals test positive, the Head needs to erect the barriers to confine them to the owners’ bedrooms and apply the Caterwalling Charm to make the tunnels through the castle that give the pets some measure of freedom.

“No, more like for animal husbandry,” Gregory replies. That gets him blank looks, so he explains, “Like if you’re free range Puffskein farming for their wool.”

Vince pauses in his work and looks at him aghast, “Gregory, promise me, you won't let anyone else hear you talking about Puffskein farming. Merlin's bollocks, you have an image to maintain, and that's not it.

“Mate, that's likely to get you hurt.” Vince twitches Millie’s wand, swearing not to mention the Puffskein farming - Merlin’s bloody bollocks - to anyone else. He tosses it to Millie who follows up with an ‘I Oath it’ of her own before handing it back so he can continue practising. It was probable she’d have kept quiet about it anyway, but Vince was banking on his lead being sufficient to have her follow.

It’s annoying, but Vince is probably right about the risk. He seems to have a much better read on the situation. Things have become so complicated lately. The thing is, at first Gregory had been inclined to think Vince’s father had a better grasp on stuff than his father did, too. The Crabbes were definitely more... well, connected. ‘In’. Except then Mr. Crabbe landed in Azkaban a year and a half ago, and say what you will, Gregory’s father didn’t. That kind of makes you think...

Now to hear Vince tell it, his father was something of a martyr for the pureblood cause, and when the war is won, they’ll come out on top... Which is probably true. Things look to be going their way... But Gregory gets the feeling his own father wishes they could do like the Parkinsons or Zabinis instead. Profit no matter who won and be expected to sacrifice less along the way. And it’s not like he believes all that guff anyway... He’s pretty sure his father wishes he’d never gotten involved with the Death Eaters.

But he had. He took the Dark Mark, and that changed everything.

As things stand now, ‘they’ expect Gregory to take the Mark, too, next summer. He can’t really see any way out of it. Doesn’t like to imagine what they’ll do to his father if he doesn’t...

So he stops talking about Puffskein farming - those blankets are just the absolute best - and goes back to petting Maleficent quietly, daydreaming of a quieter life surrounded by Magical Creatures, Puffskeins not least amongst them.

Maleficent lets out a deep rumbling purr and snuggles into him, and he feels a litte bit better. She’s a good cat.

Millie gives Gregory a sympathetic look. She has an pretty good understanding of where he’s coming from. She’s luckier, she supposes, because her father had never ‘joined the cause’. And as a girl, no one is standing there expecting her to get branded. (She has very mixed feelings about that, because they’re clearly a bunch of sexist tossers, and it’s not fair, and yet she finds it a relief nevertheless...)

If anything, because they don’t expect as much from witches, for her it was a bigger problem that her father wasn’t aligned with the Death Eaters. Most of her family are pretty hardline purebloods. Her father had broken from tradition when he married her mother, a half-blood who had attended Beauxbatons. Her mother was a little bit Veela (which practically makes her a creature, wouldn’t it?) and looked it, and so brilliantly had passed none of that on. (Isn’t that the way it always goes?) Her father had seen her mother on a trip to the continent and been completely smitten, and the end result was Millie was the very first half-blood Bulstrode, and her grandfather, her cousins, no one ever lets her forget it.

She suspects if she looked more like her mother, it would be a different story altogether. Somehow that just makes her angrier.

Vince finally gets the hang of the Charm, the removal of Maleficent’s fur from Millie’s bed serves as proof. The Maine Coon doesn’t seem to like the feel of the Spell as it washes over her and bristles. Gregory does his best to calm her back down. Vince returns the wand to Millie and thanks her for her help, Merlin, I really don’t want to land in the Infirmary again... and the boys leave. They retrieve their wands and just like all the other seventh year boys before them decide to forgo the common room tonight. They head back to their own room, but not without checking for Harper in the sixth years' quarters first.

Not that they have much luck with that.

She doesn’t come to get him as they'd agreed. Well, not agreed; as he'd suggested. A difference he fails to recognise. He’s about to get annoyed that she doesn’t fetch him, but then he stops himself. It smacks too much of self-sabotage. It was equally probable she was being... considerate, allowing him to finish whatever he was working on. He’d know when she crossed the wards after all. He could just as easily come to her when his experiment was done.

Or perhaps she’s just eager to hide evidence of her pet’s latest presumed misdeeds. Also a strong possibility, because he can hear her calling for ‘Crooks’ - it would seem that’s the cry of the free range Granger - and his doors aren’t nearly as soundproof as he’d have expected. He’s never been in a position to test it. And there’d been no call. He finds it a little disconcerting.

(Of course, Sunny probably has something to do with that, which Severus might be more given to suspect if he had even the remotest idea just how many pies the elf has his knobby little fingers in. But then how could he? Case in point, Sunny has applied a Perception Charm to the laboratory door, much like the one Severus has on the corridor outside their chambers. From Severus’ side of the door, he can presently hear her a good deal more clearly than he should be able to.)

“Crooks. Crooks!” She cries some more. Severus simply snorts in reply. The feline isn't likely to come when summoned. He looks down at where he’s curled on the floor beside him. Crookshanks doesn't even blink. What the witch apparently wanted, what the witch thinks she has, is a Crup. The Kneazle, half-Kneazle most certainly isn't a Crup.

Crooks would be in complete agreement with him for once.

Severus puts an end to his experiments on the ring and tidies his work station - with magic, it’s a matter of moments - and heads for the door.

The half-Kneazle beats him to it. He sits there before the closed door and meows now, quite loudly, something Severus finds annoying, as he was clearly on his way there anyway, just seconds from opening the door, and that makes it appear as though he’s doing the feline’s bidding. It doesn’t annoy the man enough that he’ll choose to remain in the laboratory all night just to prove a point, however. Which isn’t to say he isn’t capable of it, because he most certainly is.

Hermione hadn’t missed that last ‘meow’, she’s hardly deaf, nor had she failed to register the direction from which it came. Holy Cricket. She’s staring at the laboratory door when the Professor and Crooks emerge. Crooks sashays out as though he hadn’t a care in the world and she practically wails, “Crooks!” in admonishment.

That naturally affects him about as much as it ever does.

She rushes forward to scoop him up and turns immediately to the Professor and begins apologising profusely that her pet had breached the sanctity of his lab. A sound move in principle, but not predicated precisely on... logic. The premise is patently unsound, as Severus is quick to illuminate.

“Miss Granger,” he arrests the apparently never-ending stream of apologetic noises with his tone, “he can hardly have gained access without my permission.”

The look of utter confusion on her face is priceless. But he shouldn’t like to give her any ideas, so he tells her, “We were conducting an experiment.” Which is true, but highly misleading.

“You experimented on Crooks???”

From someone on Peace, it’s surprisingly shrill.

Well, he probably deserved that.

He half enjoys watching her trying to decide if she should berate him for such a thing.

“He’s unharmed, as you can see.” He seems intent on discovering new means of sport.

Somehow that does little to sway her into relaxing. No, if anything, it raises her hackles even more, which only serves to amuse him further. Still, she manages to hold her tongue, something he supposes wasn’t entirely to be expected. He wonders how much of that is due to the Peace she’s obviously taken, and how much is recognising he isn’t one of her little simpleton friends.

His lips purse slightly at the thought of her moronic entourage.

Hmm. Yes. He imagines it’s the sight of the uniform that calls them to mind and gives it a slightly baleful once over before addressing her, “Shall we see to the charm for the door?” He’s task-oriented after all. “You need to learn how to ascertain who has come calling before simply throwing it wide.”

And just like that, she’s mostly business. Which isn’t to say she relinquishes her hold on Crooks, or that she doesn’t surreptitiously check for damage from those mysterious and so ominous sounding experiments as she follows the Professor back towards the entrance to their chambers.

She considers objecting to his use of ‘simply’ except he was absolutely correct, really, it’s precisely what she’d done and she can imagine why that doesn’t exactly sit well with him in light of the Protection Vow. A bit more subdued at that thought, she puts Crooks down and gives the Professor her full attention now.

He can feel the slight hint of outrage leach from her and reflexively relaxes slightly in reply. The reaction is presumably warranted, possibly efficient even, all considered, and yet it strikes him as odd as it’s nearly automatic. In some ways, it’s as though his body responds to her input as though it were his own.

“The Observation Charm renders the door transparent, but only in one direction. It’s one of the class of Perception Charms, this one functioning much like Muggle two-way mirrors for security purposes. Some are specific only to the caster, this particular one is absolute. Anyone present can see the effects. I imagine you may have had occasion to witness Madam Pomfrey employ one over the weekend?”

Miss Granger blushes immediately, and that answers a few of his suspicions about Poppy and her tomfoolery during his recent stays in her care. Well, he knew she was fond of the Charm and resorted to it often. Many was the time of late he’d woken in the Infirmary to discover that Charm applied to his wall. He took it to mean the Matron had spent a great deal of time in his room watching him, and wished to keep an an eye on the ward while doing so. (He’s absolutely correct.) It isn’t much of a surprise that Miss Granger had had an opportunity to see it cast. And given that Poppy had let the young woman practically take up residence by his bedside, by contrast, it also isn’t particularly upsetting. No, if anything it seems to unsettle her more that he should have discovered this.

That suits him.

His smirk only barely suppressed, after taking the now typical Oaths off her to keep the Charm to herself, he sets about demonstrating the Spell. He opens the door to establish that the Charm truly only does work in the one direction. Just as she had before, she learns this quickly as well.

Convenient that.

Of course, the one on one individual tuition doesn’t hurt matters any.

The half-Kneazle withdraws to a nearby ledge by the dining table to watch them work. Miss Granger Summons her parchment with the Brightness and Curtaining Charms from earlier and a self-inking quill and adds this charm to her notes. She concentrates as she works, focused on this and nothing else, and soon Severus is convinced she’ll be able to manage this threat to their security at least.

She’s clearly pleased with herself, what her expression fails to reveal - precious little, to his way of thinking - the bond is sure to convey. Cheeks flushed and breathing slightly heavily with the excitement of mastery, she turns to him with a broad smile that would rival anything Hunter has in his repertoire. There’s something expectant about her as she does it that has Severus replying to her unasked question.

“Satisfactory,” he drawls. She only beams more. “Of course, having learnt to cast it doesn’t mean you’ll be able to apply it when necessary.” If he’s being perfectly fair, not that he’s entirely inclined to after her disappearance earlier this evening, she’s likely to practise until she can. Strangely, his behaviour isn’t altogether different from the feline meowing at the door he’s about to open anyway. “See to it that you commit it to memory, practising until it’s second nature. You’re not to open the door again without determining who is there first.”

A faint hint of rose blooms across her cheeks at the implicit rebuke. “Well, if you’d had a spyhole...” she attempts to object.

He laughs at that. “Oh, by all means, why not announce to all and sundry exactly where you’ll be standing, and with such a vulnerable part of your body exposed while you’re about it. Eyes can withstand no end of damage, after all.”

She pails, horrified at the ramifications, and he almost feels guilty. Almost. It’s not as though charms couldn’t be cast to protect a peephole, but the objection is more than sound in principle. It doesn’t do to make oneself a target.

“Would the wards...” she begins to question, trailing off. She’s really not sure what she thinks they should be able to do, has no firm idea what all they could do, and has no wish to insult him by implying they should have a function they do not. Thinking about it, it strikes her she’d simply assumed anything he was likely to cast would be very... robust.

Some of that is due to how they feel when she crosses them, when she’s within them. Their quarters feel... protected. But much of that has to do with how she sees her bondmate. Safety, she is convinced, security is not something she believes he’d take lightly.

“They’ll withstand a Bombarda, a Reducto, and most other things people are likely to throw at them.” It doesn’t escape her that he doesn’t mention for how long. Her brows rise, at first in surprise - because it’s still quite a lot to withstand, practically a permanently standing Protego - and then a single one in query. It would seem she’s adopting a few of his gestures, but Severus is largely immune. He’s built up quite the tolerance. He chooses not to answer the tacit query. “But it doesn’t do to rely on such things. It pays to act sensibly. Preemptively.”

When she doesn’t object again, he adds nothing more.

They stand there for a moment in silence until she deems it... safe to change the topic. “I’ve written the ‘thank you’ notes...” His response is a bark of laughter. Hers is now uncertainty. “We... had agreed to that? Hadn’t we?” In retrospect, and looking at his expression now, she’s beginning to wonder if he’d been completely and utterly facetious when they’d spoken of it this morning.

It’s beginning to look like a strong possibility. She begins worrying her lip again. With a vengeance.

“Oh, no, absolutely. You’re quite correct, we had,” he assures her, and she wonders why she doesn’t quite find herself put at ease to hear it. “I’ll just sign them then, shall I?”

“Um...” She’s regressing. She swallows and answers, no more ‘um’s. “I’ll just get them then...” Which isn’t to say she’s the paragon of confidence, but still...

She Accios her bag and removes a stack of the things, which she now hands him along with her quill. “We might want to check to make sure I remembered everyone...” She gestures to the table, still laden with her strange shrine of tat.

With a long suffering shake of his head, he pretends to have to struggle to find some free space at the head (or perhaps foot) of the table to put the sheaf of parchment down. Hermione finds herself dangerously close to a snort at that. She settles on rolling her eyes, the silence of the gesture the winning argument in its favour. It’s a bit of a shock, really, when she catches herself, and she wonders when she became comfortable enough to even consider such a response. She thinks the fact the bond reassures her when she’s not on thin ice, when she hasn’t pushed things too far... It’s giving her the self-assurance to respond to him more as she might Harry or Ron.

Well, perhaps not quite as she might to them, but it’s a fair sight more relaxed an interaction than it would have been a week ago, and she’s pretty sure it isn’t entirely down to the Draught of Peace in her.

“Do you suppose there’s any chance we could address the pile while we’re at it?” He asks, indicating it with his head. She looks at him a little blankly, and he revises any thoughts he’d had as to her intelligence. Downwards. And if she knew what he was thinking, she’d do much the same as to his, as he still doesn’t seem to have grasped why she’d left the presents there in the first place. Wizards can be unconscionably thick sometimes. (Not that certain witches are much better...)

“Perhaps remove them to your room?” He suggests, because it seems the thought simply won’t occur to her of its own volition.

“Oh, well, we’ll need to sort through them...” She hadn’t missed the way he’d glared (she’s sure it was a glare) at her uniform, and she’d promised after all. Quarters were supposed to be a uniform-free zone. Only she’d become distracted searching for Crooks... And he has enough to do for the moment signing the notes.

“I’ll just go change first while you see to them,” she gestures to the cards a series of Diffindos and some folding had made of her parchment and he nods in agreement, not that she sees as she’s scampering off towards her room.

She’s pleased with what she’d accomplished with those notes. It strikes her as a perfectly acceptable response, the proper response to the faculty’s kind gestures, and she doesn’t think he can go too far wrong just dashing off his signature. She’s effectively Snape-proofed it, she’s sure.

He’s leaning over the table to sign the bloody things, he hasn’t even bothered to take a seat, when she stops and turns to him, a dreadful idea occurring to her.

“The way Madam Pomfrey used the Charm... It isn’t just limited to doors, is it? If someone knows it, they can apply it to... to walls as well?”

“If they’ve learnt it, yes,” he answers slowly, scenting trouble, righting himself once more and observing her carefully. “It’s hardly restricted to a specific material or function, such as wood or a door.”

“But on any wall??” She looks and feels nervous now, and he thinks he understands why. She was about to change her clothing, to disrobe, and he’d only just demonstrated the ability to render walls see-through with a flick of his wand, and she’d never know he had.

While he can understand how that might be an uncomfortable thought in the abstract, in his concrete case... To assume he might do such a thing... The very notion gets his dander up.

Quite thoroughly.

He does’t take what isn’t freely offered. That had been most of the point for him to agree to their damnable bonding. Just what does his... wife take him for? “The ability to do so does not mean one has the inclination,” comes his reply. It’s frankly hissed, and he sounds so utterly offended at the idea, she’d know where she stands even without the bond.

Which throws her.

Because what she was thinking wouldn’t begin to explain his reaction.

“But...” She isn’t sure how to explain what she meant when he’s this angry. She doubts he’ll hear. “Did...” And she can’t imagine he’ll explain himself either, certainly not to her. “I...” And then she just stops and tries to work out why he could be this angry at the question.

It doesn’t take her long, even though she considers his interpretation far from obvious. It’s more a matter of summoning the courage to address her newly formed suspicion. She swallows hard and leaps. “I wasn’t implying you would.” She rushes to reassure him. “Was that what you thought?”

He doesn’t confirm it, she’d doubted he would, but the bond gives him away. The hurt... ebbs and he... unclenches. Slightly. No change is visible in his expression yet. It’s still clouded. Dark. But she’s encouraged by the insight the bond provides and pushes on, ”It just occurred to me that anyone in the school could use Charms like that. On any of the walls. The lavatory, say. The bedrooms. Or the showers.

“It would never cross my mind that you would. I doubt anyone who’d agree to a bonding like you did would... That’s out of the question.”

She’s completely sincere, and he relaxes further, mollified, his face now following suit. Hermione tries not to smile. ”And I wouldn’t have thought you capable of something like that even if you hadn’t. Agreed to the bond, I mean. It would never have occurred to me.”

She means every word. He knows it.

But now her expression falters a little, “But there are some people here at Hogwarts I wouldn’t trust,” she shrugs one shoulder a little helplessly, because this is touching on thoughts she prefers to avoid. “Not to use something like that... In that way.”

Severus feels like an unmitigated idiot, because of course that’s what she’d meant, and he’d forced her - a recent assault victim - to spell it out for him like the imbecile he is. He is an arse. And having gotten past his righteous indignation, his hurt, his... ego, he understands her problem quite fully. And responds accordingly.

“I apologise, Miss Granger. I was too superficial in my instruction of the Charm. I was focused on our immediate goal and neglected to provide you with the necessary context for the Spell. The short answer is ‘no’, they could not, at least not here.

“First and foremost, Perception Charms, like many others, depend on permissions. This door,” he gestures with his left hand to the door to their chambers, “is yours.” Her stomach does something odd at that, but she’s anxious to hear what he has to say and listens intently. “You could apply that Charm to either side of it. That door,” he points now to his right, “leads to my office. The wards are different, the permissions are different. Try it.” She hesitates. “Go on, give it your best.” She draws her wand and attempts the Charm she’d only just learnt and fails. Completely.

“It’s not you,” he tells her and his expression softens, and she begins to smile.

“It never is,” she quips, a little uncertainly, but trying to unwind.

He gives her a slight smirk, relieved she seems to be able to move past his blunder. “Come with me,” he tells her, lowers the wards and leads her into his office. He closes the door behind them - he really does seemed doomed to the doorman’s role today - and asks her to try again. This time the Spell works on the first attempt. “Those are your quarters. As such, you are able to apply the Charm from this side.”

It provides them with an excellent view of Crooks, now stationed before the closed door and giving it quizzical looks. (Once they reenter their chambers, he’ll quite naturally feign an abiding disinterest in them and their activities, of course.)

“Useful, given I’m unable to enter your office without you,” she smirks and seems to be shaking things off and he finds himself increasingly relieved in response.

She almost receives something that could be the hint of a smile in reply, more because of that relief than any actual amusement. “Not entirely useless as I believe the exercise demonstrated the issues succinctly.”

They return to chambers, and she notes he didn’t need to lower the wards for her again. They’re obviously still there, she can feel that sensation like a warm breeze across her skin, the tingle beneath it. It seems nothing keeps her from entering their home. The door closes, locking automagically behind them.

“You are able to see from your quarters to public areas, but not private ones. It’s out of the question that anyone but a staff member could apply the Spell to the rooms you mentioned, and even then there are limits. Poppy can apply these Charms to the Infirmary walls as those are her rooms. You could not.”

“Can you?”

There’s a soft snort of amusement, “If the castle works with me. As a member of staff, it’s sometimes possible, for Heads of House, naturally more so, but that wouldn’t extend to Poppy’s private chambers, say. The inverse is also true that she might be able to see into the Potions classroom, but definitely not into our quarters.

“It may assuage your fears further to know the Charms aren’t widely known - hence your Oath on the matter, we’d like to keep it that way - and it’s a good deal more difficult to apply them to stone than wood and to something with the thickness of a wall as opposed to a door.”

By the time he’s done, he’s achieved his goal, he can feel it. She’s smiling now and thanks him for taking the time to explain it to her, for banishing her fears. He still feels a fool for having caused them in the first place, but lets it stand with a faint dip of his head in acknowledgment. She darts off towards her room again with a, “I’ll be right back, if you could just finish signing those...”

And it’s the oddest thing. For a woman concerned with her potential visibility, exposure while changing, she once again fails to shut the door.

No, she stands there now, next to her bed and begins to shuck her robes.

The issue, of course, is that most of her room is visible thanks to a Perception Charm he’d cast on the mirror on her door. If she isn’t in the bathroom...

She’s very much in his line of sight.

He has no idea how to begin to explain that to her now. Certainly not in light of her concerns just moments ago. He stands, mutely staring. Mortified.

The tie follows the robe to the wardrobe, and Severus is finally spurred into action by the sight of her hands at the closure to her blouse. He whips around, turning his back to her doorway. Strange habit of hers, this changing with open doors.

Most strange.

“I wasn’t sure about what’s traditional, and I couldn’t think of much to say in the notes...” Had she actually opened the gifts first, he can’t help thinking, she might have had more to say. Naturally he misses - completely - that she’d waited for him to do so.

“So I’d thought I’d fold them into cards,” her voice wafts out of her room. Towards the middle, it’s muffled slightly, he imagines as she pulls something over her head - no, no he does not imagine that, of course not - and he continues to fixate on their front door with unwavering resolve. “I was just trying to come up with something to put on the front. You know, to make it a little more decorative...” She emerges in the decorative green blouse from the weekend, still with too many buttons undone along her front... He plants his eyes firmly on hers and refuses to allow them to drift again.

“Do you have any ideas?” She prompts. He blinks twice trying to recall the topic, and then blinks again at the idea he should be consulted on the matter.

“As far as traditions go, I believe doves are an oft used symbol.” She looks at him enquiringly, the suggestion surprisingly helpful. “Perhaps animated? Possibly turning on a spit?” Comes the now unmistakably sarcastic rest. “I could have Sunny provide us with his favourite recipe for them as an enclosure...”

And then it occurs to him why he’d wanted to sign the cards in the first place...

Elfwine, Firewhisky, Rolanda’s champagne... It bordered on a wonder neither Rolanda nor Taylor had sent sensual massage oils... No, this was the only acceptable response to his colleagues sending his bondmate wedding presents for their farce of a union. The whole idea is such an affront, it was the only conceivable response.

Well, once Miss Granger had conceived of it anyway.

“Leave that to me, I have the very thing.” Something about his tone has her questioning that, and she reminds herself that even if he had been helpful and reassuring just moments ago, he is by no means just another Harry. Although Harry hadn’t been anywhere near as reassuring, now that she thinks about it, and that might be part of why she keeps forgetting to be more cautious with the Professor.

He takes a blank sheet of parchment from the bottom of the stack and Transfigures it into a piece of wood about an inch thick, forming two grooves along the sides to better hold it. His wand firmly in hand, he glances at her and with a perfectly devious smirk begins to carve something into its surface. The satisfaction on his face when he finishes has her nervous, and he turns it to her presenting it proudly.

It’s a woodblock carving. It’s rough, there’s no question. The ability to work wood doesn’t by extension mean he’s an artist. But there’s no question about what it depicts.

It’s a carving.

Of him.

And her.

Being fed a bunch of grapes.

By him.

She’s having a great deal of trouble processing that.

“Grapes,” he supplies, sounding suspiciously like he’s trying to do an impression of ‘helpful’.

“Yes,” she replies dumbly. “I recognised that.”

“It’s our portmanteau,” he gives her a positively filthy smirk and she goggles. He nods, apparently eminently satisfied with the effort. And result.

“All that’s missing is a grape stamp to sign the things...” she grumbles, more from shock than anything else.

“Brilliant, Miss Granger! Just the thing...” And he’s grabbed another blank sheet of paper and begun the Transfiguration.

“Perhaps a wax seal, too, while you’re at it?” She adds. Only the most dull witted could take that for something other than facetiousness. Severus is far from dull witted.

And yet he simply laughs, “I’ll see to it next. You’re just a fount of inspiration tonight.” He Summons some ink from his desk, not the Selkies Silken Signatures, and hands it to her. ”Why don’t you begin stamping while I finish? You’re familiar with the process? A light Tergeo should do for the brayer...”

“I’m sure I can work it out.” She stamps the first one and examines it. He looks much himself on the card, perhaps slightly more cheerful than usual, although far from as cheerful as he seems just now.

She looks at him uncertainly, “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Because to her this no longer seems like an appropriate response in the least...

“I think it’s the only answer to... this.” He waves his hand at the pile of... things in front of him, and she can feel something twisting uncomfortably through the bond. She had been thinking of it solely as a question of manners. It occurs to her now that he really isn’t happy with the gifts, that to him, somehow it feels like everyone has completely missed the point.

Were Taylor suggesting such a scene, him and his young bondmate, her nibbling the fruit playfully as it dangled from his hand, he’d have probably hexed the man where he stood. It’s an entirely different matter coming from himself. He has a vague hope seeing the picture might show the others the utter absurdity. Illustrate just how inappropriate their reaction had been.

For the second time now.

What he’d wanted, what he needs is for them to make believe nothing has changed. Certainly not for them to pretend it’s more than it is.

It’s nothing.

Just a desperate bid for an added measure of safety... The very extremity of the action screams of that desperation.

How could they possibly have thought to celebrate their circumstances? They should have sent condolences, for fuck’s sake. At least if they had anything vaguely like brains in their heads...

“Humour me in this?” He asks, and it sounds... it sounds real. He looks at her and she meets his gaze. Funny choice of words, that, because there’s no humour here. He seems serious, so... earnest. There’s no sarcasm. It’s just... real.

“Of course,” she agrees simply and means it. If he needs this to happen, it’s certainly in her power to make it so, and she will.

They work in silence for a little bit, it doesn’t take long. He crafts the seal while she double checks the notes against the presents. She hadn’t missed a one, she discovers with some satisfaction; it isn’t as though she’d set out to memorise them. She prints and blots the fronts as he signs, applying the matching little stamp between their signatures - oddly, neither makes use of their surnames - and then she places the cards in envelopes she’d Transfigured from her parchment, addressing them one by one. When she’s finished, he Summons a candle and hands it to her. She sets about sealing the lot.

“Thank you,” he tells her, acknowledging it hadn’t been quite what she wanted. To be fair, she thinks it was something of a compromise, but perhaps their messages hadn’t been exactly compatible. Whether or not they’re mutually exclusive probably depends more on the recipients she decides. Some people will know enough to understand she’d been sincere.

Unquestionably all should recognise he was taking the mickey.

But surely they must be accustomed to that by now.
A/N:




"Severus' Woodblock" by the absolutely amazing MyWitch. ❤️